


Collision Course

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Earth C (Homestuck), Ex Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marijuana, Pre-Epilogue, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What it says on the tin. Dirk invites Jake over to smoke weed (and he has no ulterior motives whatsoever).
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 3
Kudos: 122





	Collision Course

The whole thing starts with a sound Jake hasn’t heard since he and everyone else traveled forward and started living as part of the now-established society of Earth C: Dirk’s ringtone. It’s an obnoxious little mp3 artifact from the old future, some absolutely incoherent jumble of syllables that supposedly comes from SBaHJ: the ULTIMATE Cinemastereic Esxperience, and it startles Jake just enough for him to drop the Sharpie he’s currently using to sign a pair of short shorts for a consort.

“Ah, frig,” he mutters, ignoring it in favor of reaching for his phone. It’s been years since he’s actually registered Dirk’s messages as a high priority, but somehow, the six months of their complete absence have reinstated some old, Pavlovian response. The small crowd of salamander consorts watches with rapt attention as Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Hello?”

“Jake.” 

Jake, for the life of him, cannot put a finger on Dirk’s tone. This isn’t a new experience, of course, but it’s never any less discomfiting. “Dirk! I haven’t heard from you in a while, old pal, I was starting to get a tad bit worried! What’s the occasion that brings you to call me on this fine morning?”

There’s a silence, the kind of silence that comes when someone starts to regret dialing a certain phone number. Jake waits patiently for it to end. Finally, Dirk speaks. “Do you want to come smoke some weed?”

Jake finds himself being poked rather aggressively in the knee and looks down to find a consort attempting to get his attention with the Sharpie he dropped. “Oh, thanks, buddy!” he says, taking the marker and patting the salamander on the head. 

“What?” Dirk says.

“Oh, not you, sorry, I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” Jake says. “Hang on, give me just a jiffy to pop over to somewhere a little more convenient.” He gives an earnest wave to the consort crowd, then flies up and away, heading vaguely back towards his new mansion. “Okay, now, what’s all this about ganja?”

There’s another one of those silences. “Well, I just… it’s not really that important, but I was just thinking, and I remembered one of those times back in the game when I said I would smoke you out someday, and I finally got access to weed again, so. I figured I’d at least try to keep my promise. If you still want.”

“Well, you know I’ve never actually partaken in any such substances, but I’m always down for a new experience,” Jake says, wincing slightly to himself when he realizes how sexual that could sound, especially to Dirk. “Uh, when would you want to have this little shindig?”

Dirk’s shrug is practically audible. “Well, it’s not like either of us is too busy, so whenever, I guess. Hell, now could work, if you want.”

Jake considers this for a moment. He was having a good time hanging out the consorts, and Dirk’s company is more often described as “exhausting” than “pleasant,” but… he’s an old friend, and Jake hasn’t seen him in six months. “Now sounds right splendid! I’ll be right on over.”

“Okay, cool.” Dirk doesn’t sound at all excited, but then again, it’s Dirk. He hangs up without another word.

Jake hovers in the sky for a few minutes after that, wondering what he just got himself into and what it will do to the history of their relationship that they both refuse to bring up. 

_Hey, what’s the worst that could happen?_ he thinks. _It’s just Dirk, he’s just keeping an old promise, (never mind the fact that there’s probably some unspoken statute of limitations on promises made during relationships, never mind the fact that this one is definitely expired), you_ _can hang out for a little bit and then continue on with your lives!_

Those are all good points, Jake has to admit, so he holds them close to his chest as he starts flying towards the tall structure Dirk now calls home. 

It’s not far, and Jake’s standing at the foot of the ten story building in seconds. The house is quiet, still save for what appears to be slight wavering in the wind, and the faint scent of gasoline and machinery seems to create its own atmosphere - the Stridersphere, if you will. 

There’s no doorbell, so Jake raps his knuckles against the door one, two, three times, and waits. 

Dirk appears in the doorway not even a second later. “Hey, come on in.” In a shocking turn of events, his face is completely unreadable and somehow even more attractive than Jake ever remembers it being, from his permanently arched eyebrows down to the beginnings of a beard along his sharp jawline. 

Jake puts on his best god of hope smile and steps through the door. Dirk moves out of his way just a little too late, and there’s a split second where Jake thinks he might have to duck to avoid getting scratched by the pointy end of Dirk’s shades.

“It’s, uh, good to see you,” Jake says. Dirk’s house is oppressively quiet once the door has swung shut; the only sound is Jake’s breathing and a distant whirr of machinery.

“Yeah,” Dirk says. His black tank top seems designed specifically to highlight the muscles Jake doesn’t really remember him having, and while Jake knows he’s certainly buffed up too, it’s still not fair for him to have to look at Dirk like this. “Here, the living room’s this way, I figured we can chill there.”

“Right-o!” Jake says. God, he kind of hates this, but no, no, it’s fine, he’s just catching up with an old friend, and it’s  _ fine.  _ “So, I haven’t seen you in a while, what have you been doing all holed up in here?”

Dirk shrugs. His pace as he moves down the hall is just shy of flash-stepping. “Building, mostly, robots and all that, and -“ he turns around, giving Jake one instant’s worth of a half-smile - “figuring out how to get some fucking weed.”

“Couldn’t you just alchemize it?” Jake asks, taking a tentative seat on the stiff-looking couch Dirk gestures at. It’s surprisingly comfy, despite its appearance, and he finds himself relaxing slightly as Dirk starts searching through a cabinet against the wall. 

“Nah, it never came out quite right, and trust me, some of that shit was  _ not  _ intended to be put in a human body.”

Jake hums in sympathetic acknowledgment and tries to tell himself he’s not staring at Dirk’s ass. (He’s totally staring at Dirk’s ass. It’s fine. They’re exes, after all, this is almost certainly normal ex behavior.) 

There’s a brief moment where Jake wonders if Dirk is intentionally leaning over as far as he is as he digs through the cabinet, if he knows Jake is watching. At the very least, there’s no way he actually needs this long to find whatever he’s looking for. Dirk is many things, but disorganized is not one of them.

“What are you looking for?” Jake finally asks. Dragging his eyes up to Dirk’s face when he turns around is harder than he’d like to admit, and even then, it doesn’t help that much. The thing about Dirk Strider is that he’s attractive from every sharp, dangerous angle, and Jake suddenly isn’t sure how he forgot that.

“My bong,” Dirk says. He looks down at the cabinet before his furrowed eyebrows lift. “Oh, hang on, I think I know where I left it.”

He flashsteps away. Okay, that was definitely all a show - Dirk isn’t that expressive unless he’s acting or high, and Jake is pretty sure that the weed hasn’t come out yet. 

“Alrighty!” Jake calls, uselessly, to the space where Dirk just was. Christ on a cracker. If Dirk’s putting on a show… what’s it for? What does he want? Perhaps not more importantly but certainly more enigmatically, what does  _ Jake  _ want?

He’s well aware that it takes a certain kind of man to leave crowds of adoring followers to hang out with his ex boyfriend, especially when that ex boyfriend is Dirk Strider and ex has been a part of his title, unofficially and then stamped in orange ink, for a long time. He’s well aware that there’s a pretty fucking vocal part of him that wants this day to end with Dirk pushed into the couch cushions. He’s well aware that that’s  _ not going to happen _ . Time has done nothing if not proven that Dirk and Jake together is a terrible combination for all of those involved and most of those not. 

“So you’ve never smoked before, right?” Dirk asks, abruptly flashstepping back into the living room. 

Jake looks up at him and shakes his head. “Nope, you know all I ever really did before the game was watch movies all day.”

Dirk snorts, a soft sound that’s clearly only meant for himself. Jake remembers a time when it was meant for him too, and he remembers a time when he was sick of hearing it. He doesn’t know which of those two moments feels more distant right now. “Yeah, I know. It’s easy, though, and I think you’ll like it.”

“Capital,” Jake says. He watches as Dirk packs the bowl and definitely doesn’t think about Dirk’s confident, nimble hands. “Uh, so how do you -”

“Just watch,” Dirk says. He sits down on the couch - close enough that his thigh will brush Jake’s if either of them move just an inch - and takes a long, slow hit. “Make sure you really inhale it, you won’t get high if you don’t.” 

Jake takes the bong and nods like he understands whatever the hell it was Dirk just did with his mouth. “Right-o, so you just -” He puts his mouth around the bong, not thinking about how it was just in Dirk’s mouth, inhales, and starts coughing almost as soon as the smoke hits his throat.

When he recovers, Dirk is laughing, and it’s not his usual laugh but his real one, soft and warm and tinged with more of a Texan twang than usual around the edges. It does something funny to Jake’s heart, and for a second, he’s almost not embarrassed that Dirk’s laughing at him. “That wasn’t too bad, but try to actually expect the smoke next time,” Dirk says. 

Jake just hands the bong back to him (and he isn’t disappointed when their fingers don’t even come close to touching, he’s  _ not _ , he’s over Dirk and everything is fine) and runs a hand through his hair just to have something to do with his hands. “I don’t suppose there’s any easier way to do this, huh.”

Dirk’s whole body is like a Domino line, each part tensing up in quick succession until his entire body seems to be rigid. “Uh, well, if you really hate the bong that much, there’s one other thing I can think of right now.”

“Splendid!” Jake says, because while it’s gross, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his head on straight if he has to get high through what’s pretty much an extension of Dirk’s mouth. It’s a little, ah, distracting, to say the least. 

Dirk takes another hit, then looks up at Jake with what is quite possibly one of his least readable expressions ever. “Have you ever heard of shotgunnin’?”

“Nope, but you know I do love guns,” Jake says. He’s not sure whether or not he wants Dirk to take that as a euphemism.

Dirk purses his lips slightly, and Jake has the feeling that he’s being scrutinized from behind Dirk’s shades. Finally, Dirk says, “Okay, I’m basically just gonna take a hit and pass it to you, so be ready to actually inhale it.”

“Okay?” Jake says, a little too distracted by the emerging drawl in Dirk’s voice and the shine of his lips to think too much about what was just said, and so it comes as more than a bit of a surprise when Dirk leans forward, fast, conjuring the mental image of a striking snake, and presses his mouth against Jake’s.

It’s not a kiss, not by any stretch of the imagination. There’s too much smoke, barely any contact, and it’s over in less than a second. It sets Jake on fire from the inside out, and it’s only through some miracle that he manages to inhale and exhale the smoke without coughing.

Once some of the smoke is cleared, Jake is able to see Dirk, back to reclining against the other side of the couch like nothing happened at all. He’s sure he must look like an idiot - mouth hanging open just enough to be obvious, eyes wide, body paralyzed. Christ, why couldn’t he just deal with the bong?

“That better?” Dirk asks, and the bastard has the nerve to sound just a little amused. Tense, still, underneath the haze, but definitely amused. God, Jake  _ knows  _ he must’ve known how bad of an idea that was, and yet. Here they are. If this is part of Dirk’s machinations, the list of possible endings Dirk wants from this day is only getting shorter and shorter.

Jake clears his throat and thanks the entire universe when his voice comes out steady. “Yeah, that’s, uh - tip top! Much better than that other device.”

_ What are you doing, what are you  _ doing,  _ now he’s just going to keep doing it and there’s no way this is going to end in a good way.  _

Dirk laughs once, a soft sound that seems to be only for himself. “Cool, cool.” He takes another hit, blowing the smoke out toward the ceiling in little rings, then looks back at Jake. “Ready for another?”

“Ready as rain,” Jake says. (He’s not. He’s really, really not.)

  
Dirk nods in acknowledgment and takes a long drag from the bong. As he sits up and starts leaning towards Jake in what feels like slow motion, Jake can’t decide whether to lean in ( _ it would be so easy to just kiss him, actually kiss him)  _ or away. He ends up staying completely still as Dirk comes closer, closer, closer, and pseudo-kisses him once more. Jake closes his eyes and forces himself to focus on inhaling, exhaling, not grabbing Dirk by the hair and yanking him back in, inhaling, exhaling. He knows that this could all stop if he just said, but for as long as Jake can pretend that it’s nothing more than friends helping each other out, he doesn’t have to force himself to give it up. 

“Okay, you should probably give that a chance to settle now,” Dirk says. He’s leaning back on the couch again, all long, sharp limbs and long, sharp, shaded glances that are only slightly dulled by the languidness sneaking into his movements. The air smells like pot. “Don’t want to make you sick.”

Jake hums some sort of affirmation to that and leans back as well. The same languidness he sees in Dirk is creeping along his nerve system too, and the world starts to feel like it’s made of slow jungle sap and a dull ache low in his gut that could be loneliness, horniness, or anything in between. The whole situation is making it difficult to think about anything but the feeling of Dirk’s lips, let alone whatever it is those lips are saying right now. “Hm?”

“I said, what have you been doing the past couple of months? I haven’t seen you, but I mean, it’s not like I’ve seen much of anyone.”

Jake shrugs. His eyes track Dirk’s fingers as they tap, one at a time, on the back of the couch. “I’ve been meeting an awful lot of fans, I suppose the word would be, consorts, mostly. Those chaps really are the sweetest! And working with Skaianet too, of course, although I’ve gotten plenty of other people to take care of most of the busywork by now. You?”   


“I’ve been tinkering with old ideas and that sort of shit,” Dirk says.

Jake waits for an elaboration that doesn’t come. Finally, just before the silence stretches long enough to be unbreakable, he says, “That sounds nifty! And this place that you’ve got here is quite the hunky dory little abode, I love all the -” He gestures vaguely in a way that’s supposed to indicate the ambient robot noises, scent of gasoline, and cranked-up thermostat. 

“Thanks.” Dirk’s voice sounds far away from the conversation, though. Jake’s heard him like this many times before and knows it can take a while for whatever mental tangent he’s on to wrap up, so he settles a little deeper into the couch and contents himself with admiring the muscles under Dirk’s tank top until Dirk speaks again. “You know, I know you and Jane have already sort of done this, but we could really capitalize on being gods.”

“How do you mean?”

“Just, like…” Dirk waves a vague hand in Jake’s direction. “I don’t know, we could do TV or something, make a brand out of this shit.”

Jake ponders this for a moment, thinks back to some of the old taped TV shows he had on the island. The memories are hazy through the mental fog the weed is starting to create, but he gets there eventually. “Like televised fisticuffs of some sort?”

“Exactly,” Dirk says. The turning of the gears and cogs in his brain is practically audible. “Maybe we could work rap in there too, though, some sort of ironic-wrestling-rap battle mess. People will eat that shit  _ up.” _

“That sounds pretty nifty,” Jake admits, leaning forward a bit as he laughs. He ends up moving a little more forward than intended, and his arms windmill a bit as he regains his balance. “What would we call it?”   


It’s Dirk’s turn to lean forward then, and Jake knows he’s staring blatantly at Dirk’s lips. (He doesn’t care.) “Uh, fuckin’, something with god in the title, I think.”

“God Bods,” Jake suggests with a very unattractive snort. 

“Absolutely not,” Dirk says instantly. He’s laughing a little, though, his thigh bouncing under Jake’s hand, and - wait, when the fuck did Jake’s hand get on his thigh?

Jake stares down at the offending appendage for a long moment, watches his thumb trace an idle circle around Dirk’s knee, and swallows hard. Dirk’s leg is warm and close and if Jake slid his hand just a few feet up, his hand would be on Dirk’s dick. Fuck. He can’t do that, they’re exes, and regardless of Jake’s little “theories” so far, there’s no way that Dirk actually invited him over to fuck, and…. 

Dirk’s hand comes down to rest on top of Jake’s. “Any other ideas?”   


“Uh.. Gods Rumble in the Pumpkin Patch,” Jake blurts, extremely thankful nothing about dicks came flying out of his mouth. 

“A little better, but still pretty bad,” Dirk concedes. His hand is so warm, and he’s holding it so perfectly still that there’s no way he’s not hyper aware of it and its placement. “Want another hit?”   


There is no way in hell that Jake taking another hit straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, will end well. (Well being subjective and meaning “not with him pushing Dirk into the couch and fucking him into some indeterminate point in the future,” that is.) And yet, as he says yes, he knows there was never really a chance of him saying anything else.

Dirk’s hand shifts slightly as he reaches for the bong with his free arm, but he never breaks contact with Jake as he puts his mouth to the bong and inhales, long, slow, torturous. Jake feels like a live wire, and it feels like a lightning strike when Dirk leans forward and connects their lips. 

Jake inhales the smoke, and he feels like it’s all going to his head. HIs hand is still on Dirk’s thigh and their lips are still touching and when Dirk moves to lean back again, Jake grabs a fistful of his tank top and yanks him forward again without even a first thought. Dirk doesn’t resist.

Faint puffs of smoke drift out from Jake’s lips as he kisses Dirk again and again and again, pressing closer and closer until they’re horizontal on the couch, Jake on top of Dirk, and the bong falls to the floor with a soft  _ thump _ . Neither of them move to get it.

“Jake, this is a bad idea,” Dirk mumbles, but his voice is breathy and interrupted by kisses and he makes no move to pull away. 

Jake nips at Dirk’s bottom lip and whispers, “It doesn’t have to be,” and suddenly, that feels true for the first time. This could be fine. Exes do this, it happens. Earth C was a fresh start for everyone else, so who’s to say that it can’t be a fresh start for them too?

“If you say - oh,  _ fuck, _ ” Dirk groans, whatever he was originially going to say cut off when Jake rolls his hips and grinds down into his thigh. The sound goes straight to Jake’s dick, and whoa, since when was he hard? And since when were his hands tangled in Dirk’s hair like this, tugging ever so slightly? 

“I’ve missed this,” Jake says, “missed you, plum.” He lets one hand drift down to the button of Dirk’s skinny jeans and lets his lips move to bite at Dirk’s jawline. 

Dirk makes this weird almost-gasp that Jake recognizes as a stifled moan, and says, “God, I, me too, shit, Jake.” His hands move from his side to Jake’s ass, grabbing him tightly through his shorts, and Jake whines in the back of his throat. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this until now. 

“Gadzooks, Dirk, can I - I want -” The words fail, and Jake unbuttons Dirk’s jeans and pulls them down as much as he can to show his point.

Dirk does that almost-gasp again, his entire body hitching in time with his breath, and he nods. “Yeah, yeah, that’s, fuck.”

“Alright, darling, you’re going to have to sit up some, then,” Jake tells him. The pet names feel like they never left his tongue. 

Dirk nods again, and they’re close enough that Jake can see a hint of his eyes through his shades, wide open and bright. They both fumble for a moment in an attempt to get to something resembling an upright position, and then they’re there, they’re there and Jake’s hands are pulling Dirk’s jeans and boxers off and there’s Dirk’s dick, hard and hot in Jake’s hand and  _ fuck.  _

Jake lets go for a second and spits into his hand - he knows it’s not quite enough but he also knows that Dirk has always preferred a rough edge to things - before running his hand up Dirk’s dick in a motion he knows a little too well despite how long it’s been.

That finally knocks a moan out of Dirk, still quiet but better than those stifled gasps, and Jake can’t help but lean in to kiss him again. He keeps working Dirk’s dick as they make out, hand moving faster and faster as Dirk gets louder and louder, and he’s distantly aware of his own hips grinding down into Dirk’s thigh where he’s somehow ended up straddling him. 

“ _ Jake _ ,” Dirk groans, voice wrecked all to hell in a way that Jake will never stop loving, and a soft whine escapes from his throat as he comes into Jake’s hand.

Jake swallows the whine with a kiss, gasping into Dirk’s mouth as he rolls his hips one more time and comes in his pants. Holy shit.

Time stretches out like taffy as they both sit, panting, sweating, taking in the godawful musk/weed combination scent that now fills the living room. 

Finally, Dirk says, “I’m not gonna lie and say that’s not … why I invited you over here.”

Jake looks over at him - still half-naked, arm tossed between his legs in what’s probably a useless attempt to cover his dick, shades resting on top of the light sheen of sweat on his face - and he swears he falls in love again, just a little bit. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

Silence. Dirk retrieves the bong from the floor and takes another hit. 

Jake watches him in the way you watch a car crash about to happen, and says, “I’m… I’d certainly like to do this again.”

Dirk smiles, and the cars collide. 

  
  
  



End file.
